


Dare Me

by honey_wheeler



Series: The Pointer Project [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You love honor as if it’s a woman,” she scoffed at him once, when he tried to rebuff her after laying with her again despite telling himself he wouldn’t.</p><p>“I don’t,” he’d mumbled, a sorry response and completely ineffectual. She didn’t care for his denial, not of her words and not of her body. All it took was her hand on his breeches and her teeth at his ear for him to capitulate again.</p><p>“You do,” she’d whispered. “But I’ll fuck your honor like it’s a man.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dare Me

**Author's Note:**

> So sometimes you get to talking with **[Jal80](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jal80/pseuds/Jal80)** about how, when you think about it, a lot of Pointer Sisters songs would suit various Jon Snow ships, and then next thing you know you're texting things like "JON/YGRITTE = DARE ME, Y/MFY??" and listening to Slow Hand fifty times in a row and then fic like this happens. SUE ME.
> 
> Jon/Ygritte - **[Dare Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPTwcwA6vuk)**
> 
>  
> 
> _Previously on The Pointer Project: Jon/Sansa - **[Slow Hand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1041783)**_

It is always battle between them. 

Jon has never had illusions that anything with Ygritte would be easy. She is the honed edge of a blade, so sharp that you’d never know she cut you until you saw the blood. Jon supposes that’s one of the things about her that intrigues him; it makes her moments of softness all the more valuable.

He’s hoping that now is one of those moments of softness.

She’s more relaxed than anyone in such cold weather should ever be, but still there’s a watchfulness to her, an edge to her lazy languor. To anyone else she would appear to be sleeping, her face a pale blur above the shaggy bulk of the furs she’s shared with Jon for nearly a moon now. Jon knows she doesn’t sleep. He also knows she doesn’t wear a stitch beneath those furs, her bare body a soft slip of warmth against his.

He sets a tentative hand against the curvature of her ribs, his knuckles fitting between the too-deep grooves between the bones. Instantly, her own hand comes up to slap his away, an irritable huff issuing from her lips, and Jon winces. This is still so new between them, so new to him at _all_. He feels capable of little more than fumbling. Chastised, Jon pulls back – a tactical retreat. 

Then she catches his hand and tucks it decisively between her legs. A frontal assault, Jon thinks giddily with what little faculty he possesses after every drop of blood in his body has drained into his cock.

The feel of her beneath his fingers hasn’t lost any of its power to thrill and terrify him in equal measure. Well. Perhaps not equal. Right now it feels far more thrilling: the slippery-soft heat of her, the quiver that tells him that this particular fumbling is just what she wants. Jon’s cock throbs in answer to the pulse of her around his fingers. He wants to be inside her, but he’s not ready to stop touching her yet. He may never be ready for that.

Her nails score fire across his back when he rubs his thumb over the knot of flesh and nerves that is so sensitive to his touch. Jon’s body is no stranger to scars; a lifetime of training with swords and arrows and knives does little to leave one’s skin unmarked. He thinks his scars have doubled since the first time he lay with Ygritte, though, each mark and scratch the souvenir of another battle with her, of the constant war he wages with his desire. With his honor.

“You love honor as if it’s a woman,” she scoffed at him once, when he tried to rebuff her after laying with her again despite telling himself he wouldn’t.

“I don’t,” he’d mumbled, a sorry response and completely ineffectual. She didn’t care for his denial, not of her words and not of her body. All it took was her hand on his breeches and her teeth at his ear for him to capitulate again.

“You do,” she’d whispered. “But I’ll fuck your honor like it’s a man.” 

She grows impatient with his touch now, squirming under his insistent fingers. This is another battle they wage; Jon always wants _more_. Ygritte always wants _now_. She clamps her thighs around his hand, pressing him so tightly to the silken heat of her that Jon thinks he might embarrass himself and spill right now, a not unfamiliar worry. It’s one she takes advantage of, bucking up against him and rolling him to his back so she sits astride him, his hand wedged awkwardly between his stomach and her cunt. A sharp pain shoots up his wrist, but he has no thought of taking his hand away. The furs fall over her head, shutting out the world and enveloping them in darkness. It only sharpens every other sense, the wet heat of her burning his palm, the scent of her so strong he can practically taste it on the back of his tongue, the scrape of her teeth at his neck reminding him that should she wish, she could eat him for supper and pick her teeth with his bones.

Jon moans and bucks up helplessly against her, knowing he’ll feel shame later for how desperate her barely leashed aggression makes him but unable to care. He can feel her grin against his throat, just as she pushes back and guides him inside her, the feel of her around his cock so hot and so good that Jon could nearly weep.

He can do nothing but surrender. This is a war she’s winning.


End file.
